


Preparations

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: In spite of the need for her to focus on the creation of a brunch suited to the discriminating palates of Sherlock’s parents and his brother, Molly found a smile curving her lips when her thoughts inevitably drifted to that dream within a dream of just a few hours before...





	Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> Part 11 of 15 of [Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/series/848343).
> 
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> *************************************

 

It was a beautiful morning. The patchwork clouds of the previous evening had produced a sweet, cleansing rain sometime in the night and Molly’s back garden had been sparkling in sunshine when she’d gone out to cut a sheaf of chives for her Spanish Frittata. 

A _beautiful_ morning. The thought bubbled up occasionally… fairly often, actually… as she worked in her kitchen -- or _played_ , really. Or it would have been playing, if not for the portentous nature of the occasion. 

In spite of that, and the need for her to focus on the creation of a brunch suited to the discriminating palates of Sherlock’s parents and his brother, she found a smile curving her lips when her thoughts inevitably drifted to that _dream within a dream_ of just a few hours before. 

Her contentment was such that she suspected Sherlock would have no trouble seeing it, though the more overt physical evidence of their encounter had been washed away in a much-appreciated morning shower. She was now feeling ready for almost anything. She’d dressed carefully, donning neat navy trousers, sensible shoes, a new, crisply tailored shirt in a blue, green, and white flower print, and at present she was wearing her favorite pinny, white with yellow plaid pockets, inherited from her grandmother and a very functional garment in spite of the old fashioned ruffles at the shoulders and hem. Her navy cardigan was laid over the back of a chair for later, her hair was done up in a tidy braided bun, and she had even applied a touch of make-up -- lip gloss, and a touch of mascara, only, as her skin had seemed to glow when she’d studied herself in the mirror over the sink, her cheeks pink with good health and happiness. 

There was apparently a great deal to be said in favor of dreamlike debauchery in the darkness of the pre-dawn hours with Sherlock Holmes. 

Her partner in sin had still been sound asleep when she’d finished dressing and quietly slipped from the bedroom at just half six. Now, at nearly eight, she knew she would have to go awaken him if he did not soon rouse on his own. 

However, a few minutes after the hour, he silently entered the kitchen like some dissipated wraith, his eyes both dazed and a bit wary, bare of foot and decadently disheveled, his hair wild, his blue dressing gown loose over his rumpled and slightly stained undergarments. 

“Good morning,” Molly said, keeping the laughter in her voice to a minimum. “Are you alright?” 

He frowned at her. “That… _wasn’t_ a dream. Was it?” 

She fought down a grin. “The evidence would suggest not, I believe. I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed later, though. We’re having brunch with your parents in less than _two hours_. _And_ Mycroft.” 

He winced at the painful reminder, but then peered at her closely. “You… you’re alright? You seem remarkably…” 

“I’m excellent, thank you.” 

“Then… it was…” 

“Mmm… extraordinary?” 

It was strange for him to be at a loss for words, but then it was a strange morning, all around. 

He considered her adjective. “Extraordinary… in the _good_ way?” 

Her brows rose. “Well… yes. In the best possible way.” 

His uncertain expression finally eased. “You thought so, too? I mean…  it seemed to me... “ His voice trailed off, some color rising in his pale cheeks. “You’re certain you don’t have time to… ah…” 

“Go back to bed with you?” she exclaimed, and when he nodded, a fatuous smile on his face, she threw up her hands. “ _No!_ Your parents will be here in _two hours_ \-- and Mycroft in one, hopefully. Did you text him about the saffron?” 

“No, not yet,” he said, obviously disappointed. “Where’s my mobile?” 

“On the coffee table, where you left it last night,” she said, walking around the peninsula toward him. “And ask him to bring some flowers for the table, too, will you?”  Only her eyes laughed as she gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek. “And then go take a bath! You’ll feel much more the thing, believe me.” 

He reached up and fingered the edge of the ruffle at her shoulder. “You don’t look like someone who was ravished a few hours ago.” 

She chuckled. “I assure you, I’ve been like a cat in cream all morning, and going back to bed with you will not help in the least!” 

He smiled slowly, his eyes alight. “Later, then?” 

“Later,” she agreed. But then he bent and kissed her lips with such tender sensuality that it was almost enough to make her change her mind. She pulled herself together with some effort and said, “Go! You’re distracting me and I still have a great deal to do!” 

He sniffed. “As I told you, all we have to do is let my mother get wind that a grandchild may be in the offing and she won’t care what she’s served. Dad, too.” He looked suddenly conscious. “You… er… did note the lack of… _protection_.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“And you haven’t been on the pill since you broke with… ah…” 

“Tom?” 

“Yes. Him.” A hint of disapprobation crossed his face, but then his brow wrinkled and he asked, “ _Why_ haven’t you?” 

She narrowed her eyes. “You know why.” 

He raised a brow. “Do I?” 

“Make a deduction, Mr. Holmes,” she said, somewhat acidly. 

But instead of looking smug, he looked a bit horrified. “Would you have been content if we had remained… just friends?” 

 _Just friends_. The thought was a painful one, now, even with it being a thing of the past. “I… I had made up my mind to that. Yes.” 

He carefully gathered her close and kissed her cheek, and said in her ear, “I was such an idiot.” 

She laughed a little, and returned the kiss, and said, “Yes. It was a close run thing.” 

“Yes.” He let her go and gazed down at her, longingly. 

She cleared her throat. “Two hours? Mycroft?” 

He rolled his eyes.  “Mycroft can bloody well wait on our convenience.” 

But he turned with a sigh and went into the living room to send the necessary text, then went back upstairs, and presently she could hear the shower running.

 

*

 

When he next appeared, half an hour later, he was much more himself again, in a sober suit of charcoal grey with a white shirt, his wild curls once again thoroughly tamed. The light of that sharp intelligence was back in his eyes, enhanced by a twinkle of amusement at the sight of her gazing upon him with obvious pleasure. 

“Told you we should have gone back to bed,” he said smugly, kissing her on the cheek. “What’s that you’re making?” 

“Ensaïmadas. It’s a type of Spanish breakfast bread. There will be a frittata, and a shrimp soup, a salad, and asparagus. And a tropical fruit salad to end with.” 

“Good lord. Are you feeding an army?” 

“No! But when Mycroft took me to your parents’ home for tea that time, at least half the dishes were homemade. Your mother is an excellent baker.” 

“Yes, well. She was a maths graduate student when she met my father, and baking is fairly scientific in nature. Basically, it’s applied chemistry.” 

“Very true, which is why _you’re_ such a good cook, Mr. Graduate Chemist,” she teased. 

But he just shrugged. “Not really my area.” 

“Fish and chips, and Weetabix are more in your line?” 

“Well, if _I’m_ cooking, yes. If _you’re_ doing it…” 

“Well, you can help with this, at least. Here, put this on and you can get the asparagus prepped for me.” Trying not to smirk, she handed him another apron, a less frilly one, but red in color and emblazoned with the phrase _Kiss the Cook_.   

“I am not wearing this when Mycroft arrives,” he said, but began to put it on without further protest. 

“Oh, you’ll be done with the asparagus in plenty of time. Let me tie that for you and then I’ll show you what to do.” 

He was, naturally enough, a quick learner, but the pile of asparagus was quite extensive and he was just finishing up with the last of it when a knock sounded on the front door a few minutes after nine. “Sorry, as I said…” He reached behind him to pull at the apron strings, but then exclaimed, “Molly, they’re stuck -- knotted or something! Did you do that on purpose?” 

“No!” Molly laughed, washing her hands off quickly and going to his rescue. “Oh, why did you pull it so tight? Hold still, this will take a minute!” 

The sound of the door opening came to their ears, and then Mycroft’s voice as he called, “Hello?” 

“Just _cut_ the strings!” Sherlock said, desperately. 

“ _No!_ I almost have it. _Hold still!_ ” And then, a few seconds later, it was done. “There!” 

He whipped off the apron, but not before Mycroft had appeared in the doorway, with Lady Alicia Smallwood standing beside him. Lady Alicia gave a small snort of laughter. 

Sherlock cursed under his breath and straightened his suit jacket. “Just barging in, Mycroft? Hello, Alicia.” 

“Good morning,” Lady Smallwood said, still amused. 

Mycroft said, “The door was unlocked, and I presumed you were too busy to answer -- an accurate presumption, obviously. The apron was a nice touch.” 

Molly came forward to take the grocery bag Mycroft was carrying. “Your brother has been a great deal of help in prepping the asparagus for me. Thank you so much for stopping for the flowers and saffron.” 

Alicia held up a bottle. “We’ve brought some Cava, too, in keeping with the Spanish theme.” 

“Thank you!” Molly said, taking the bottle as well. “Sherlock’s parents went to Spain for a week last year and I thought they’d enjoy the reminder of good times.” 

“Very good point,” Mycroft said with approval. 

And Sherlock gave her a smile and said to Mycroft, “Sometimes I think she’s smarter than either of us.” 

“Certainly she has far less baggage to see around when it comes to our parents,” Mycroft agreed. 

“Right!” Molly said, briskly. “Speaking of which, they will be here in less than an hour, and for everyone’s peace of mind it would be best if all is as ready as possible, are we agreed?” 

Sherlock said, “Ye-es,” but hesitantly. 

“Excellent. You and Mycroft can go set the table in the dining area -- everything is on the sideboard, table cloth, plates, napkins -- and then if you would see that the table and chairs in the back garden are dry and ready for use if necessary. Alicia, do you think you can arrange these flowers for me?” 

“Yes, of course,” Lady Smallwood said, smiling at the twin expressions of consternation on the Holmes brothers’ faces. “I’m very good at arranging flowers.” 

“I, however,” said Mycroft primly, “have not had occasion to set a table since I left day school.” 

“Don’t worry,” said Sherlock, “I remember how to do it. Would you care to wear the pinny?” He offered the red apron to his brother. 

But Lady Smallwood took it instead, saying, “He won’t need it for that, as you know perfectly well, but I can use it in here while I help Molly. Get to work, now, both of you. Chop-chop!’ 

Resigned to their fate, the brothers left the kitchen. 

Molly grinned at Alicia and said quietly, “Well done!” 

And Alicia smiled back. “Yes, wasn’t it? Now, where are your clippers and a vase?”

 

*

 

Molly was just putting the last touches on the food, sieving some confectioner’s sugar over the cooling ensaïmadas, when Sherlock came back into the kitchen a few minutes before ten o’clock. 

“They’re here,” he said grimly, obviously nervous. “Just pulled up in the car Mycroft sent. Do you want to take off your pinny and come to the door with me?” 

“Yes, of course I will,” she said, wiping her hands. She turned around and he swiftly untied the bow. She slipped it off as she went around the peninsula and quickly switched it for her blue cardigan. Once she’d got the cardigan on, she turned to Sherlock. “Do I look alright?” 

A light came into his eyes, and a little crooked smile to his lips. He caught her shoulders and kissed her firmly. Then he said, softly, and very sincerely, “Thank you.” 

She felt her cheeks growing pink. “It’s… I… I love you,” she said, simply. 

He kissed her again, and said, “I love you, too.” He straightened. “Now. Into battle?” 

“Well, not precisely. Everything will be fine!” 

“When they calm down.” 

“Yes.” She gave a tiny grimace. 

Sherlock nodded. 

He took her hand, and led her from the kitchen. 

Everything was ready. The dining area, off to the side of the living room, glowed with a pristine white table cloth, Molly’s best china and flatware, and with the artfully arranged flowers. 

Mycroft hovered near the table, a stoic non-expression on his face, and Alicia was standing beside him, looking concerned. 

And then there came the faint sound of familiar voices, followed by a sharp rap on the front door that made all four of them blench, quite as though the cheerful sound was the very voice of doom.

 

~.~

 


End file.
